


A Declaration of Dick-Dreaming

by cadoodle



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Crack, Kinda, Lots of Cursing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-08
Updated: 2014-12-08
Packaged: 2018-02-28 15:10:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2737232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cadoodle/pseuds/cadoodle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I know you said things were over, but I-” Stiles coughs back a laugh, making it a sob instead. “I love you! There, I said it! I, Billy McMahon, love you, Derek Hale! I love you!”</p><p>AKA the one where Stiles has been waiting forever to do this schtick.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Declaration of Dick-Dreaming

“So Derek is being held hostage.” Scott says, and everyone groans.

            “Why is it always Derek?” Erica begins to whine. Stiles raises a hand.

            “Hold up a second Catwoman. Let’s hear the whole story before we go rescue Derek the Damsel. Scotty, please continue.” He gestures the go-ahead and Scott nods gratefully.

            “The witch we were looking for showed up. At Derek’s apartment.” Everyone groans again.

            “Seriously, his home security is _shit_.” Lydia mutters. “Your Dad needs to set him up.” She says to Allison, who nods, brow pinched.

            “At this point I think Dad’ll do it for free.” She shrugs at everybody’s disbelief. Papa Argent and his equipment don’t come cheap. “They’ve gotten pretty close.” Is all Allison says. She walks around the table to put a comforting hand on Scott’s arms. He’s got them braced against his kitchen table, looking like he’d love nothing better than to be playing World of Warcraft right now. It’s close to the full moon, which Stiles knows makes his thighs and feet ache, which in turn make him grumpy as hell. This witch is gonna get it.

            “How do you know the witch is there? Did he get his one phone call or something?” Lydia asks, looking two seconds from huffing and puffing herself. Which makes sense, since she’s pms-ing. Not that Stiles keeps track.

            He bought her tampons once.

            So like, he knows when it happens, but it was an accident.

            He didn’t like, _deliberately_ count.

            “No, he just called me asking if I’d bought the eggs yet.” Everyone stares. “He never asked me to buy him eggs.”

            “Pshh, that’s ‘cause he hates them.” Stiles says, gliding across the wooden floor to Scott’s fridge. He pulls out a carton of eggs and places it on the table with a “voila” and semi-violent hand flail.

            They all contemplate the eggs.

            “So who’s gonna bring the eggs?” Boyd asks. “She obviously wants Scott, so it can’t be him.” They turn to Isaac, who’d skipped lunch and is eating cold Chinese food from yesterday night. He slurps his noodles down with a sigh.

            “The witch will smell him. Wolves are particularly odious to witches.” Lydia says with a frown.

            “Yes, well, I’ve been telling him to switch to Old Spice for a while now.” Stiles says. Isaac glares, shoveling another spoon down. “These are gonna go bad if they sit out.” Stiles frowns, putting the eggs back in the fridge.

            “If she can smell wolves, can she smell banshees?” Allison asks. Lydia shrugs.

             “She might be able to sense what I am. I channel more magic than wolves.”

             Scott growls, sprouting a goatee. Allison kisses his cheek and it recedes, which is good because it’s not a great look for him. “Allison can’t go. The witch has seen her and Chris, setting traps. She knows Allison is a hunter.”

             Stiles knows where this is going. He has an Calc II test tomorrow. Nuh-uh.

            “We just need you to be a distraction.” Scott says, reading him like a book that has nothing to do with Calculus. “You deliver the eggs. We move in. In and out.”

             “Two years ago I would’ve squealed, peed myself, and grabbed my bat.” Stiles says. “I got finals, man.”

             “Stiles-”

             “Calculus. Mother. Flipping. Calculus.”

             “Derek might legitimately die if you don’t go.” Isaac offers.

             “Yeah your lo mein really screams anxiety.” Stiles snaps.

             “I’m a stress eater.” Isaac says, looking supremely unconcerned.

             “I just bought this shirt. Blood is a bitch to get out-“ Stiles tries.

             “I will wash it myself, Stiles.” Erica says, smirking.

             “Tide pens are not the be all and end all for clothe laundering, Erica.” Stiles sighs.

             “There won’t be blood. Or bats.” Scott says, frowning. “I mean it, just be a distraction. We’ll get to the balcony and take over from there. Just let us know where she is.”

             “And be loud enough that she doesn’t hear you seducing Ms. Johnson downstairs because ‘you and your ragtag team of teen models lost the darn keys again’ and plan to vault up to the sixth floor via balcony in yet another feat of impressive teen model gymnastics.” Stiles grumbles.

             “Scaling the wall is a bitch on claws.” Erica says with a shrug. “We’re werewolves, not Peter Parker’s long lost teen model cousins. Plus it takes longer.”

             “Fine.” Stiles says, knowing he's fighting a losing battle. And he doesn't want Derek to die. And he also just thought of something to make this all way more worth it. “But I get to do this my way.”

             “Deal,” Scott says, looking very much like he doesn’t want to know, which is good because Stiles has no intention of telling him. “We can’t have you smelling like us, though, so,”

             “Oh, _fuck no!_ ” Stiles screeches as both Erica and Lydia jump up and dash for the backyard. “Not the fucking hose!”

             “Language, Stiles,” Mrs. McCall says, flipping to the funnies in the newspaper. “That’s a dollar in the swear jar.”

\--

             “What the fu-”

            “I brought the eggs.” Stiles announces dramatically, before tossing the open carton at Derek’s face. At least five eggs make contact and Derek takes two shocked steps back, Stiles taking the opportunity to come inside and slam the door closed.

            “What the fu-” Derek says, angrily this time. The carton is splat on the floor, the rest of the eggs’ whites making a slowly poolling at his feet. He wipes at his face, and Stiles throws himself at Derek, swiping his thumbs under his eyes to remove the yolk. Derek is stiff as a board as Stiles cups his face.

            “I hate you,” He whispers huskily at the man, biting his lip and dragging his eyes up and down the man’s body at the same time. It’s not much of a chore. Derek follows the script, of which there is none, and pushes Stiles away, choking. His eyes are wide, and they zero in on Stiles crotch, and he reddens further.

            While Scott did tell Stiles to be thorough in making himself smell like Derek, he probably didn’t mean for Stiles to wrap Derek’s shirt around his dick and hump for a few rounds. Which is what Stiles did, yes.

            He wants the whole spurned lover thing to look authentic!

            “I know you said things were over, but I-” Stiles coughs back a laugh, making it a sob instead. “I love you! There, I said it! I, Billy McMahon, love you, Derek Hale! I love you!” He strides forward as he spews nonsense, waxing poetic about Derek’s big ears and buckteeth. Derek, for lack of a better word, _flees_. He walks backwards into the couch, startled, and Stiles gets a good push in and he tips over and onto it. Stiles swings his legs over and is straddling Derek, who blinks up at him, speechless, as egg goop slides off his cheeks.

            “And your dick.” Stiles growls, pushing their faces close, and Derek actually _whimpers._ His hands scramble at Stiles’ hips, and Stiles reaches back to hold them there, only a slight tremble in his arms giving away how hard Derek is fighting him on this right now.

            “It’s big, and awesome, and I love how it gets when you get furry,” Stiles grits out, because for fuck’s sake, you think Derek would get it and help him out with this. “God, I dream about your dick all the time.”

            And suddenly, Derek stills underneath him. It actually throws Stiles, who’s not sure exactly what to do. He wanted Derek to stop fighting him, not go all dead fish.

            “Um, and I know you think you’re too dangerous, but I want you anyway!” Derek twitches underneath him, his eyes locking in on Stiles. He’s too serious, too good an actor maybe, especially with egg still stuck in his lashes. Stiles feels suddenly like he’s the one out of the loop, but he’s already committed to this act.

             “I know your history, I know how you’ve been hurt. How I could hurt you. We come from two different worlds!” God, he wishes he had hair to flip back. “But for every excuse there’s an even better reason to keep going! Seize the day! Carpe diem! C’est la vie! Que sera, sera!” That’s about it for his foreign language skills, but there’s some Julia Roberts in his arsenal, and what are the chances she’s seen Notting Hill anyway? Well actually there’s probably a pretty good chance. Julia’s a classic.

             “We’re amazing together, baby. I can help you, heal you. Make you less of a bad boy, well, maybe not that much less.” He giggles vapidly, and Derek raises an eyebrow, looking pretty disgusted. Good. Back on track.

            “I’ve got a thing for bad boys, see,” Stiles says, dropping his voice again. He leans down, arching his back, almost touching but not. He’s not going to molest Derek against his will, not even for the sake of this act. But-

            Derek’s arm clamps around his back and he twists them around in one deft move. Stiles has no chance to squeal, and Derek towers over him. One string of egg runs down his nose and drips onto Stiles’ lips, and Derek follows it with his mouth.

            “FUCK BITCHES GET MONEY!” Scott shouts as he kicks the glass in, Isaac, Erica and Boyd rushing in and tackling the witch that had been leaning over the stairs to peek at the show to the ground.

            Allison and Lydia step primly in around the pieces of glass.

            “Thanks Mrs. Johnson!” Scott hollers as everyone walks over to examine and bind the unconscious witch, ignoring Derek and Stiles on the couch.

            “Goddammit Scott, I left those unlocked!” Derek says, referring to the now ruined balcony doors. He lets go of Stiles and goes to inspect the damage, muttering about a contractor.

            Stiles blinks, mouth and chin wet with raw egg. He blinks again.

            “What-”

            “Eggs. Nice touch.” Scott says, leaving the witch to the others. Stiles nods dumbly.

            “What-”

            “You didn’t lie.” Scott answers, shrugging. Stiles fixes him with an incredulous look. “Okay, you lied a lot. About, uh, pretty much everything actually. But you didn’t…no, you did lie about that. Um, the dick stuff. You told the truth for some of the dick stuff.” Scott flushes. Stiles gapes at him.

            “Also the ‘we could be amazing’? Or ‘we are amazing’, or whatever. You didn’t lie about that either.” Scott gives him a considering glance. “Which I guess is pretty true, huh.”

            “No, it’s not-“ Stiles snaps, blushing to the tips of his ears.

            “Lie.” Both Scott and the voice behind him says, in the perfect unison. Stiles turns around and the pack is watching them, watching Stiles and Derek, who has stopped bemoaning the glass shards in favor of staring Stiles down. Stiles is ready to dive bomb outta there, glass shards and fragile human feet be damned.

            “Fuck you guys.” Stiles snarls. “We don’t all get to be walking lie detectors.”

            “That was a really dumb idea.” Derek says. “That’s the truth. Ask Scott.”

            Scott makes a pained, why bring me into this noise, but nods all the same. “Truth.” He mumbles.

            Derek takes another step forward. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed. If that witch decided she was no longer amused, you would’ve been.” He’s speaking slowly. “Scott?”

            “Truth.” Scott says beside him.

            “Shut up, Scott.”

            “No, by all means.” Derek says, still looking darkly at him. “I love you. Scott?”

            Scott groans again. “Lie.”

            “Okay, I get it Sourwolf, bad prank, I’m sorry-”

            “You’re a really bad actor.” Derek continues.

            “Truth.” Scott says now, unprompted.

            “Okay now that’s just opinion!” Stiles cries. “And fuck you I totally sold that! She was eating out of the palm of my hand!”

            “Not because of your acting. Because you reek of me.”

            “Truth.” Says Scott.

            “Because your horny teenager act isn’t an act.”

            “Truth.”

            “Okay, I have a Calculus Test tomorrow that I need to do some serious studying for, so you can suck my dick, Derek,”

            “Truth.” Says Derek.

            “Stop that!” Stiles screams, and Derek’s tongue is in his mouth before he can get any other words out. Stiles is surprised into a moan, and Derek wraps an arm around his waist. Erica is in the background cackling so wildly Stiles can hear her where all other brain functions have fled for the hills.

            Derek breaks away to press his forehead against Stiles. “I dream of your dick.” He says against Stiles’ lips, no less serious than the day he was born, crawling out of Hell. “Scott?”

            “Truth, but so gross, man, so gross,” Scott chokes out, hands in front of his eyes.

            “Get the fuck out then,” Derek snarls, and Stiles laughs maniacally before grabbing Derek by his big ears and bringing him in for round two.

            Isaac sits on the witch’s bound body, chin in hand. “We should really institute a swear jar.” He suggests. 

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the cursing. I imagine there'd be a good amount in a non-MTV regulated world. Sorry not sorry?
> 
> Needed to pound this one out before I got back to Mind the Gap. I promise I will be continuing that one, after finals!!
> 
> Come follow me at confessedlyfannish.tumblr.com. I (fucking) love prompts!!


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